


I am poor, obscure, plain and little

by HisMomoness



Series: Blue Days [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, References to Child Abuse, Zuko has a lot of feelings, and no idea what to do with them, mild animal cruelty, original feline character, referenced jetko, t for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisMomoness/pseuds/HisMomoness
Summary: Zuko pushes aside a damp sheet of cardboard to look under the dumpster at the alley mouth, where he thought he first heard something. There’s a box. He pulls it out from where it’s tossed, half under the bin, and peers inside. A single, tiny form is curled up in the corner.A relieved sob slips from him, startling even to his own ears in the heavy silence of the alley.The kitten’s not moving, but he can see the little chest rising. There’s no way it has a mother—no cat would choose this alley to raise a litter and she wouldn’t leave them in a barren, soggy box. Zuko slips a hand under the kitten and lifts gently.[Blue's origin story]
Series: Blue Days [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883146
Comments: 31
Kudos: 157





	I am poor, obscure, plain and little

**Author's Note:**

> A brief allusion to Zuko-typical child abuse and brief animal abuse. Nothing graphic whatsoever.

Zuko is not an animal person. 

He is seven years old when he finds a bird’s egg lying in the grass in his father’s backyard. It’s a tiny, fragile thing, still intact. Zuko is tiny and fragile, but already cracked.

Somewhere deep inside he wonders what it might be like to live without fractures. 

His favourite colour this year is red, but he thinks the pale blue of the egg is nice too. Zuko scoops it up in cupped, fumbling hands and holds it more carefully than he’s ever held anything before in his life. He shows it to his Uncle, whispering excitedly like he’s worried he’ll wake the baby bird inside. 

He nods when Iroh tells him, so gently, that the egg is very unlikely to hatch. Zuko wants to try to take care of it anyways, so Uncle helps him put it in a small box with a lonely sock for a bed and nestles it under the lamp beside his bed. Uncle doesn’t often tell him no. 

It’s only a day before his father sees the egg. Then it’s only minutes before Zuko comes back to his room to find a sticky mess. He doesn’t have to guess what happened. 

He cleans up the box that held the egg and does not allow himself to cry. Next time Uncle visits, he knows better than to ask. Zuko knows better than to tell.

His mother is not like his father. She feeds the birds in the yard, and there’s a cat that comes by every now and then for the dishes of cream and gravy she leaves out for it. It’s a huge, orange tabby, as wide as he is tall. 

The cat belongs to someone, that much is obvious. Zuko can tell from the way his fur is soft and clean when he runs his fingers through it, or the way he purrs at the mere sight of Zuko or his mother and from how _clearly_ well-fed he is. He doesn’t care that it’s another family’s cat, because he comes to visit Zuko. He chooses Zuko's company, and that’s enough.

Zuko calls him Druk. 

Druk’s letting Zuko use him as a pillow. They’re lying together in a patch of sun on the deck, drowsily watching Ursa weed a small flowerbed. 

Zuko doesn’t have a lot of children that he gets along with. Certainly not his sister. Druk doesn’t ask or expect anything of him, so he’s the best kind of companion. Unconditional love is a rare commodity in Zuko’s young life.

“Mom?”

“Yes, Zuko?”

“Can Druk stay with us?”

Ursa’s not looking at him, but Zuko can tell she’s smiling. “No, sweetheart. He belongs to someone else. He might have another little boy or girl to go home to. But you can be friends with him.”

Zuko pouts and nuzzles his face further into the soft fur of Druk’s plump side. “That’s okay, Druk. We’ll be friends for a long time,” he murmurs. The cat’s ears twitch and his tail curls up at the end. 

Zuko’s sure he gets it. 

And they are friends—good friends. Zuko looks forward to finding Druk in the garden every day after school, ready for a pat on the head and content to sit at Zuko’s feet while he reads. If his sister is playing outside, Druk doesn’t show up. Zuko hates those days, though he can’t blame Druk for his absence.

The cat doesn’t seem to be afraid of much else. Once, a fox shows up at the edge of the yard, startling Zuko to the point he freezes where he stands. He sees them sometimes, flashes of red that disappear into the bushes around dusk. They’re usually harmless, Zuko knows, but this one has a desperate glint in its eye and fur that doesn’t look quite right. 

So Zuko freezes, but Druk is a flurry of motion. He’s up and arching his back, staring the wild thing down from a wide stance in front of Zuko. 

Druk hisses and yowls—sounds that Zuko would find _terrifying_ if they weren’t coming from his best friend—until the fox turns and lopes off. 

He’s ten when Druk stops visiting. 

He’s never had tears like this before, soaking his mother’s sundress as he sobs against her in the garden. She assures him that the cat is still happy and fine, gone with his family wherever they moved to. Zuko’s sad and young enough to believe her.

He’s eleven when his mother disappears. She’s not there to console him, so it’s a long time before those tears dry up. Once they do, Zuko doesn’t cry again. 

Zuko never asks for his own pet as a child, after his mother leaves. There are no animals permitted in his household. This is something he knows without being told. He doesn’t so much as attempt to follow in his mother’s footsteps for fear of catching his father’s attention. In time, even the birds in the garden seem to dwindle. 

It’s for the best. Zuko learns early to withstand the maltreatment his father wields so readily, but an animal would not. An animal wouldn’t understand to take the hit or harsh word, to wait to cry out until it was in the relative safety of its room where nobody could hear. An animal would show its fear, unlike Zuko, who waits until the terror is so woven into his sense of being that there is nothing to show. It just _is_ —the fear is as much a part of him as any other piece of his gnarled, twisted soul. 

So no, Zuko is not an animal person. 

He cannot let himself be. 

* * *

Zuko is not still not an animal person at twenty four years old, when he finally leaves the relationship that plagued him through most of the latter half of university and getting his first graduate degree. 

Zuko’s body stays in the relationship far longer than his mind does. 

They’re on vacation a few months after Zuko gets his first job, a real, good-paying one that he doesn’t hate and that he’s earned himself. They stay at a resort in a relatively poor country they visit, one that his boyfriend picked and Zuko can hardly stand to set foot in for guilt. Their trips off the resort make it clear that there are a lot of strays here. Many are thin and missing pieces of ears and tails, but just as many others are fed and cared for, to some small extent, by the locals and tourists who stop to offer scraps.

It’s day five of the trip when it happens. They’re in a market, one that Zuko had finally convinced his boyfriend to go to. There’s a small dog that’s taken to Zuko, probably for the generous piece of his lunch that he left for her under the table. 

She gets brave when Zuko stops to examine some artwork on display at the edge of the market, pacing closer and leaning in to sniff tentatively at his pant leg. Zuko ignores her for now, guessing that if he moves too quickly, she’ll run. She doesn’t look like she’s been abused or hurt recently, but that doesn’t mean much. Zuko doesn’t show all of his wounds either. Just the one. 

Zuko spies the first wag of her tail out of the corner of his eye just as his boyfriend returns. He makes a face of disgust when he sees the dog, and faster than either she or Zuko can react, a foot swings out to strike her belly.

It’s not hard. It probably startles her more than it hurts, but she yelps and bolts. Zuko’s in shock—Jet was never particularly nice, but he wasn’t _usually_ a total asshole, either. 

Zuko’s not a violent person. He’s fought but he’s not a fighter. If asked if he considered violence in that moment? It’d be a blatant lie to say no.

He politely thanks the artist—who’s glaring at him now—and drags his boyfriend away. He doesn’t mention the dog.

Zuko had thought for a while that it was normal for love to exist without liking. That’s how it is for him when it comes to Azula, after all. Iroh is the one to inform him, during a hushed call from the hotel room while Jet showers, that this shouldn’t be the case in love—that there is nobody he will one hundred percent like for one hundred percent of the time, but that he should like his partner at least _most_ of the time. 

They return from vacation and Zuko can’t remember a time he truly _liked_ Jet. It’s another six months before he leaves. 

* * *

One advantage of having a giant scar across his face is that people tend to give Zuko a wide berth. He looks far scarier than he really is, which they’d know if they spoke to him for more than about four seconds, long enough for the truly awkward stammering to start. 

He doesn’t usually mind it. It means he doesn’t have to put up with a lot of shit. 

It also means he can walk at night through parts of town that would be generally unsafe for _anyone_ at any time and not worry that he’ll get hassled too badly. His apartment is fine, but the surrounding area is still rough around the edges. 

He’s coming back from the gym. It’s late fall and dark already, even though it’s hardly past dinnertime. It’s also fucking freezing, which Zuko didn’t anticipate and so is not dressed for. If he cuts through the alley it’ll shave off a few minutes, and with any luck it’ll still be too early for drugs to be shoved in his face. 

He’s nearly at the other side when he hears it. 

A tiny mewl.

_No._

_Not doing this._

Zuko picks up his pace, stepping a little bit harder and faster just to drown out the other insidious noises of the alley.

It was a raccoon, he tells himself. A raccoon or a squirrel in the dumpster.

 _Not doing this not doing this not doing this—_

He slows when he gets to his place, the first apartment he’s ever lived in alone. He can afford better but he feels comfortable where he is, like maybe he’s done running from something he can’t quite put his finger on but he’s sure is following him.

Zuko showers. Eats. Mindlessly watches some depressing documentary on sand. Reads precisely three chapters of his novel. Goes to bed. 

He can’t sleep. 

It’s _really_ cold out there—what if what he heard wasn’t a raccoon?

He reads another two chapters. 

It called for rain tonight. November rains are brutal, prone to freezing.

He heats water for tea.

Maybe it was a person? It didn’t sound like a person, but somebody could be in distress. Winters in this region are unkind to the homeless. 

_Shit shit shit—_

Zuko throws on a jacket and boots and doesn’t bother to change out of his sleeping clothes as he runs back to the alley.

_Oh my god what did you do what did you do what—_

He doesn’t know what he left behind or why but he knows that if he doesn’t find it he will never forgive himself. 

There’s a long list of unforgivable things in Zuko’s history. He doesn’t want to add to it. 

His phone flashlight isn’t helping worth shit but he uses it to scour the edges of the alley, up one side and down the other. Nothing. He makes the round again. 

If there was something alive, wouldn’t he hear it?

Zuko pushes aside a damp sheet of cardboard to look under the dumpster at the alley mouth, where he thought he first heard something. There’s a box. He pulls it out from where it’s tossed, half under the bin, and peers inside. A single, tiny form is curled up in the corner.

A relieved sob slips from him, startling even to his own ears in the heavy silence of the alley.

The kitten’s not moving, but he can see the little chest rising. There’s no way it has a mother—no cat would choose this alley to raise a litter and she wouldn’t leave them in a barren, soggy box. Zuko slips a hand under the kitten and lifts gently. It doesn’t react as he tucks it under an arm and beneath his jacket, in the hollow where he hopes it will be warm but not smothered. 

The kitten doesn’t make a sound as Zuko nearly runs back home. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, and it’s too late for clinics or the shelter to be open.

He googles and calls an emergency veterinary line as he walks. The receptionist he’s connected to answers with a reluctant sigh.

Zuko doesn’t let her speak past the first hello. “I found a kitten.”

“Congratulations.”

“No, that’s not—I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Is it hurt?”

“I...” Zuko had hardly looked. “I don’t think so.”

“How old?”

“No idea. It’s small. Fits in my hand.”

“Eyes are open?”

“Um. Yes. I think so. It’s sleeping now.”

“Then congratulations. You’ve got a pet. Feed it, keep it warm. Drop it off at the humane society in the morning if you must.”

“Wait—what do I _do_?” Zuko’s voice is taking on a note of hysteria—but aren’t these people supposed to _care_ more than this?

The woman sighs again. “Look, hun. This isn’t really an emergency unless the little thing’s hurt. You just have to keep it alive for the next twelve hours. Warm water bottles, kitten formula in a syringe. Feed every couple hours or as much as it wants to take, but don’t force it. Can you handle that?”

He doesn’t think he can but it doesn’t appear he has much choice. “O-okay.”

“Have a good night, hun.”

The line disconnects. He gets to his apartment and slips the kitten into the large pocket of his sweater. Then he sets about filling a shoebox with a towel and a bottle of warm water under that. Only when he’s done can he bear to look at the kitten again. 

He takes a breath and pulls it from where he’s kept it tucked against him. It’s so small, nearly entirely white with fur askew in various places. It has the beginnings of a small grey patch over one eye and around the base of its tiny left ear. 

It mewls again when Zuko rests it against the warm towel. 

Something weighty and constricted in Zuko’s chest, a tension he’s never lived without, uncoils ever so slightly. He stretches a fingertip out to run it across the kitten’s head. A paw stretches out at the contact, and small blue eyes blink open, just for a moment. 

“Hey,” Zuko murmurs. “Feel better?” Blink, mewl. “ I have to leave for a minute. You’re probably hungry. But I’m not going to leave you for long.”

He gives another tentative stroke before grabbing his car keys and speeding to the nearest pet shop. 

It’s ten minutes to closing. Zuko is the bane of every customer service employee tonight. He doesn’t give a shit—he barks for the cashier to help him find what he needs before he’s even fully through the automatic doors. The kid looks up with a scowl that changes to uncertainty as he sees Zuko.

Benefits of the scar, indeed. He’s back home in thirty minutes with kitten formula and food and seventy dollars worth of things he doesn’t know if he needs but he wants to have just in case.

The kitten’s still sleeping, so he moves the box to the couch to settle it on his lap while he searches the internet for everything he should know about how to keep this creature alive. 

It’s been an hour, tops, but Zuko knows that if the kitten dies, it’s taking a piece of him with it.

* * *

“It’s just not _normal_ ,” Mai says.

“That’s mean, Mai,” Ty Lee chides. “I like him. He has a good aura.”

“It’s a cat. It doesn’t have an aura.”

“Yes, _he_ does. It’s a pretty, light blue.”

“What does that mean?” Zuko asks, genuinely curious. He’s never asked about his own aura, but even his rigid, logical brain has to admit Ty Lee possesses a skill of uncanny perception.

“Tranquil and intuitive. Unlike Mai,” Ty Lee says. 

Mai rolls her eyes. “Fine. The cat has a nice aura. It’s still not normal.”

Zuko glances at the kitten, now six weeks older, stretched out on his back on the couch. His head is lolling slightly off the cushion. There’s no way it’s comfortable, but he’s fast asleep. Zuko smiles a little and turns back to Mai. 

“Don’t worry,” he tells her, “He won’t be around to offend your allergies much longer.”

“Did the shelter have a space free up?” Ty Lee asks. 

“No. But I’ve got a posting online and I’m screening potential adopters.”

“Anyone interested?” Mai asks. 

“Um, not really. Not so far.”

That’s a lie. There’s been at least a half-dozen people who were interested in adopting the kitten, but Zuko had turned them all away after a few minutes of questioning. They weren’t up to the standard he’s looking for.

“Oh my goodness, Zuko! You have to keep him now. He’s yours!” Ty Lee says.

“I don’t think so,” he mutters.

Even if the thought of giving him to someone else makes Zuko want to die a little, he deserves better. Zuko just has to _find_ better.

“Whatever,” Mai says. “Can we please go to the movie?”

* * *

Zuko goes on his first date since he left his last shitty boyfriend. It’s not terrible, so there’s a second, then a third. Zuko thinks this guy might actually be halfway decent, so for the fourth date, which is dinner at his place, Zuko spends a little extra time putting up his hair and picking out a slim pair of pants that he thinks suit him well.

The guy is not, in fact, decent. Not even halfway. He’s a fucking asshole.

Zuko wasn’t that invested because he’s smart enough to not let himself care, not anymore. Ultimately, this will get chalked up to nothing more than a few wasted evenings and a learning experience. Block, delete, never think about again. It’s fine. 

Zuko learned a long time ago that all love is conditional. 

Then why is he so frustrated?

It’s not about the guy. It’s not about much of anything, as far as Zuko can tell. He’s just... _pissed_. 

He takes down his hair and throws himself on his bed. He’s starving, because he didn’t even get to eat before his date was trying to get him out of his pants, but he ignores his complaining stomach. 

He stares at his ceiling. The water stain there kind of looks like a slice of pizza.

Without warning, his eyes burn and hot tears are sliding down his cheeks. Zuko hasn’t cried in years. He can’t remember the last time. 

He also can’t remember the last time he felt this kind of tangled, writhing mass of emotions. Most are unidentifiable other than anger and annoyance at his own anger. It all fuels the tears. 

Maybe this is what his therapist meant when she mentioned catharsis? If so, it feels like bullshit. Zuko lets himself cry anyway. In a few moments the silent tears become huge, wracking sobs that tear at his throat. He wraps his hands around his shoulders, desperately holding himself together. 

He hears a meow just before a small weight dips the mattress beside his hip.

Zuko quiets slightly, from surprise more than anything. He’s been coexisting with the kitten for almost two months, up with it every few hours in the beginning. He’s friendly, and hasn’t shown an aversion to Zuko’s presence, but he also hasn’t gone out of his way to be near him either. Zuko’s the feeder and the temporary caretaker, and that’s an arrangement they’re both comfortable with.

Now, though, he holds his breath as blue eyes peer at him curiously. Zuko twitches slightly as the first tentative paw touches his arm. Then the kitten gets confident, crawls onto Zuko’s chest and sets himself down so his head is tucked under Zuko's jaw.

Zuko doesn’t move for a long minute, tears still sliding down his cheeks to tickle at his ears. He doesn’t want to scare the kitten away. 

He feels purring and a tiny, gentle nip of sharp teeth on his chin. It startles a breathy laugh out of Zuko. The kitten flops over onto his side, and Zuko cups a hand along his back so he doesn’t slide onto the mattress.

Zuko feels...less angry. And _resolved_.

“We need a change of scenery,” Zuko tells the kitten. “And you need a name.”

When he’s sure the cat is well and truly asleep and won’t be disturbed by his movement, Zuko reaches for his phone to delete the adoption post.


End file.
